


Memories

by AliaMael



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Angst, Gen, when in doubt write angsty Sanae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliaMael/pseuds/AliaMael
Summary: Sometimes, Sanae wonders how he can still be here.





	1. Ghost

There could be beauty in this. This quiet and resigned suffering. But there is no one to witness it, and so it stays useless.

It's not even that Sanae feels _pain_. You have to be alive for that. He feels… empty. Floating, maybe, like a ghost or a memory. He smiles. Yeah, a memory. He _was_ , but isn't anymore. What's left is… a shell. A trained puppet that goes on with the motions of life. Nothing more.

But after all, who could remember him? Sho probably got himself erased. Neku never _knew_ him. Joshua…

That's the problem, isn't it? Joshua is still here, and nothing changed, and _everything_ changed. "The world ends with you", hmm? Neku saved _his_ world, and Shibuya is still here, brighter than ever. He couldn't save Sanae's world. This one lays in ashes now. 

And, apparently, Sanae's world was in his relationship with Joshua. Joshua who doesn't talk to him anymore. Who doesn't even let Sanae see _signs_ of his existence. What's left to a Producer without his Composer? Coffee. Paint. Shaking hands that cannot hold a pencil anymore. CAT is dead. Sanae… Sanae could as well be.

Of course he's at fault here. Of course. He tried to go against Joshua, after all. He played. He lost. He can't even regret it. He's just…

So, so tired.

He shivers in the warm air. The void inside of his chest absorbs everything, and he feels cold, so cold, all the time. He doesn't know how WildKat is still open. He can't remember brewing coffee, nor the day of the week. How much time has passed? 

Can an Angel die?


	2. Hope

The Long Game is behind them now. It's been… weeks. How many? Sanae doesn't know. They passed in a blur, as if WildKat was hidden in a heavy fog while the city strives. There's sun in Shibuya's street, even when it rains. The rhythm of life never falters. The café is silent.

It feels unfair, sometimes. So much sacrified, all for Joshua, who didn't even _want_ to be saved, who didn't even _thank_ , who doesn't even…

No. Sanae can't hold Joshua responsible for what he did. He chose. He… didn't realise what he was getting himself into. He didn't know you could have a black hole in your chest. But eh, even immortals can learn. How comforting.

When the sound finally reaches Sanae, it's already been going on for a while. There's a young girl in the café, who Sanae can't remember serving, but she's here with a coffee cup, a slight frown and a pencil in her hand. It's her Music that Sanae's hearing. She's _writing_ , and Sanae's not jealous, he can't, he… he'd _kill_ her to get some of her creativity.

There's a sudden pain in his palms; he has to force himself to unclench his fists. His nails have left red marks on his skin.

He has to _do_ something, anything not to _see_ her anymore. He can feels the void _growing_ , _eating_ him from the inside. He's surprised he can still breathe. If _this_ is the alternative to the cold, he doesn't want it. He'd rather disappear, alone, quietly.

The girl looks up, catches him looking, begins to smile, then frowns.

"Are you alright, sir?"

_Of course_ , he wants to say, but the words are stuck somewhere unreachable. Maybe the void ate them too. Sanae wonders what she can see on his face. Can she see the raw _hunger_ he has for her Imagination? Is she going to bolt for the door? Leave him alone, like he deserves to be?

"You look like I have something you need," the girl observes.  
"What…"

Oh. He can speak. He can speak and he doesn't know what to say anymore.

"What are you writing?" he hears himself ask.

She looks surprised, then shy, but answers nevertheless.

"It's a story about a woman who adopts a shapeshifter. They travel to find a place they could call home."

Home. Why does this word seem so alien to him?

"Do you want to read it?"

He's surprised to discover that yes, he wants to read it. He _wants_ something. Something _other_ than just disappearing. That's new.

So he reads it. It's clumsy, but there is a spark in the obvious love the girl has for her story. It's almost… warm.

It's only when, hours later, he finds himself looking down at a small drawing of a cat who _could_ be the shapeshifter of the girl's story that he thinks maybe, just _maybe_ , alone is not the answer. He doesn't try to wash the ink on his hands. He needs it to remember.


End file.
